“Oh, there’s dozens. I’m being frugal.”
He blinks.
I can’t help but let a laugh slip. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll show them to you sometime. Oh, look, we’re coming up on one of my favorite areas…” I point Jamie’s attention back out of the window and explain the rolling farmland and countryside that we’re coming up on, settling into the way he hangs on my every word.
There’s no flattery or pretense in it—just sincere curiosity.
I could get used to this.
Chapter 14
JAMIE
The champagne and water work their way through me, and I realize that my usual aversion to using the bathroom on an airplane isn’t relevant here.
Sure enough, the jet’s bathroom is larger and nicer than the one in my apartment. It features a basin sink, gold fixtures, and natural wood accents. I help myself to facial cleansing wipes and a packet of moisturizer, which help banish the lingering fatigue of jet lag and the day’s early start.
There’s even a shower, which is insane to me, but might be practical with the tight schedule Morgan keeps. I can’t imagine the kind of life where you’re so busy and so accustomed to luxury that you’d do anything other than enjoy your private view of the landscape below.
Even with the chance to reset, I’m still looking forward to getting to the hotel and getting settled.
But our driver takes us out of the city—Paris, this time—and I’mcertainMorgan didn’t pick a rural hotel. There’s nothing about this on my itinerary.
As the black car pulls to a stop, the destination is nowclear—a high-end country club and golf course.
“I thought we had a busy day,” I say as we step out of the car.
“We do,” Morgan says. “This is a business meeting.”
I try not to act like a total tourist as I ogle the delicate wood paneling and tasteful tufted furniture in the country club. I assume we’re here for lunch until Morgan leads me out the back and nods for a staff member to hand me a bag of golf clubs.
Morgan’s shoes, while on-trend and all black, are athletic. She slides her crop blazer off her shoulders, revealing a sleeveless collared button-up that has a slight sheen to it. I’d guessed it was silk, but now I see it’s sweat-wicking.
The muscles of her arms arealmostcaptivating enough to distract me from sneaking a glance at how the perfectly tailored pleats of her grey pants show off her ass.
I glance at the clubs, then at Morgan. “We’re playing golf?”
“I’mplaying golf,” she says, angling towards a man waiting by a golf cart. He’s middle-aged, salt-and-pepper hair, deeply tanned skin, and dressed in classic men’s golf attire. “You’remy caddy.”
“But I don’t know anything about golf,” I say, scurrying to catch up with her, not even sure how to pull the bag correctly.
“You’ll learn.”
The other man’s caddy, who’s similarly dressed in classic attire and standing at-the-ready, gives me an odd look as I approach.
I can understand why. I’m wearing black jeans, a dark grey oversized sweater, and sneakers. Morgan could have at least warned me!
As we near the other golfers, Morgan leans close to my ear. “Since you care about cost-saving measures so much, I figured I’d save the company the cost of hiring a caddy for theday.”
This feels like revenge. I glance up at Morgan and the predatory twinkle in her violet eyes, and I’msureit’s revenge.
Morgan greets the other man, Peter, like they’re old friends.
“Benny,” the caddy says with a posh British accent, extending a hand to me.
